He was about to order the final connection made, and then there’d be no turning back. As Nichol so clearly pointed out, they’d be found eventually. And traced back here.
And then no number of woodsmen, of huntsmen, of villagers, of demented poets, of glorious painters and innkeepers could stop what would happen. To Three Pines. To everyone in it.
Armand Gamache turned his back on the sleeping village, and went inside.
Jér?me Brunel had taken his seat in front of one of the monitors, and Thérèse was standing behind him. Yvette Nichol sat beside Dr. Brunel at her own keyboard and monitor, her back already slumped, like a widow’s hump.
They all turned to look at him.
Gamache did not hesitate. At his nod, Yvette Nichol slid under the desk.
“OK?” she asked.
“Oui,” he said, his voice clipped, determined.
There was silence, then they heard a click.
“Done,” she called, and crawled back out.
Gamache met Jér?me’s eyes, and nodded.
Jér?me reached out, surprised to see his finger wasn’t trembling, and pressed the power button. Lights flashed on. There was a slight crackling and then their screens flashed alive.
Gamache reached into his pocket and brought out a neatly folded piece of paper. He smoothed it out and placed it in front of Jér?me.
Agent Nichol looked at it. At the insignia. And the line of letters and numbers. Then she looked up at the Chief.
“The national archives,” she whispered. “My God, it might work.”
“OK, everything’s live and we’re online,” Jér?me reported. “All the encryption programs and sub-programs are running. Once I log in, the clock starts.”
While Dr. Brunel slowly, carefully, typed in the long access code, Gamache turned away to look at the wall, and the ordnance map. So detailed. Even so, it would not have shown where they now stood had some child years ago not put that dot on the page and written, in careful, clear letters, Home.
Gamache stared at it. And he thought of St. Thomas’s Church across the way. And the stained-glass window made after the Great War, showing bright young soldiers walking forward. Not with brave faces. They were filled with fear. But still they advanced.
Below them was the list of the young men who never made it home. And below the names the inscription They were our children.
Gamache heard Jér?me type in the sequence of numbers and letters. Then he heard nothing. Only silence.
The code was in place. Only one thing left to do.
Jér?me Brunel’s finger hovered above the enter button.
Then he brought it down.
“Non,” said Armand. He gripped Jér?me’s wrist, stopping the finger millimeters from the button. They stared at it, not daring to breathe, wondering if Jér?me had actually hit enter before Gamache had stopped him.
“What’re you doing?” Jér?me demanded.
“I made a mistake,” said Gamache. “You’re exhausted. We all are. If this’s going to work we need to be sharp. Rested. There’s too much at stake.”
He glanced again to the map on the wall. And the mark that was almost invisible.
“We’ll come back tomorrow night and start fresh,” said Gamache.
Jér?me Brunel looked like a man who’d had his execution stayed. Not sure if this was a kindness, not sure if this was a trick. After a moment his shoulders rolled forward and he sighed.
With what felt like the last of his energy, Dr. Brunel erased the code and handed the paper back to Gamache.
As he returned it to his pocket, Gamache caught Thérèse’s eye. And nodded.
“Can you unplug us, please?” Jér?me asked Nichol.
She was about to argue, but decided against it, too tired herself to fight. Once again she slid off her chair and crawled under the desk.
When the cable was unplugged, they turned the lights out and Gamache relocked the door. Hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Hoping he hadn’t just given Francoeur that critical twenty-four hours to complete his plan.
As they trudged back to Emilie Longpré’s home, Gamache caught up with Thérèse.
“You were right. I—”
Thérèse held up her Minnie Mouse hand and Gamache fell silent.
“We were both wrong. You were afraid to stop and I was afraid to go.”
“You think we’ll have less fear tomorrow?” he asked.
“Not less fear,” she said. “But perhaps more courage.”
Once in the warm house, they went to bed, falling asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Just before drifting off, Gamache heard Henri groan contentedly, and the house creak in ways that felt like home.
*
Gamache opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into Henri’s face. How long the dog had been sitting there, his chin on the side of the bed, his wet nose within inches of Gamache’s face, was impossible to say.
But as soon as Armand’s eyes fluttered open, Henri’s entire body began to wag.
The day had begun. He looked at the bedside clock.